Why, Mama?
by Corelli Sonatas
Summary: "The lighting in the room flickers, and this distracts Mary. But George is still in thought, feeling the vibration and the beating of his mother's heart in her chest. And at last, he wonders, 'Papa gave you...Downton? '"


Enduring a headache at eleven at night is hardly what Mary wants whilst she works in her bedroom.

Downton is in need of change - a good change - to its system of conduct, and now Tom is permanently out of the picture (Mary is still saddened when she recalls their departure, teary-eyed Sybbie holding onto her father's flapping coat as the wind and the waves took the ship and the Bransons away).

In brief, it is Mary's duty to inspire progress for the estate to which she is heiress.

As if God has heard her internal pleas for mercy, a small voice calls out from the hallway: "Mama?"

 _George._ The woman sighs, puts down her pen, and averts her gaze from the uncontrollably boring papers to the bedroom door. "Come in," she responds. And in her son comes.

First Mary is puzzled by the boy's presence at such a late hour. "My darling, what's wrong? Shouldn't you be in the nursery, asleep? Where is Nanny?"

"I was scared...and lonely," confesses the child, a sense of guilt present in his tone. "Sybbie is gone, and Marigold too."

Mary exhales heavily upon realisation. "I forgot," she utters. _Edith and Marigold are in London with Aunt Rosamund. Of course George feels lonely!_

"Can I sleep in here?" wonders George softly, knowing not to press his mama further. His eyes observe his mother's figure; she appears tired, so he adds, "What are you doing, Mama?"

"It's nothing," Mary lies, shrugging off her work purely to ward off any more questions that might lead to _the note_ that, a year ago, took her time of mourning for a detour. "Your mama needs to finish some work, that's all."

But George is unconvinced that this preoccupation his mother bears is meaningless. "What is it for?"

"For Downton." She has always been confident of George's intellect; he is winning, she fears.

"Why can't someone else do that?" questions the boy, nearing his mama at her desk. Mary melts internally at his touch: _Matthew's_ touch.

"Because I have the responsibility." George looks at her in confusion, whereupon Mary rephrases her answer: "It's my job, darling."

"Your...job?" The concept barely scratches the surface in the child's developing mind.

Mary decides to relocate to the bed for the moment. "Come," she tells George. He obediently follows her onto her lap, and his head lovingly leans next to hers.

This sort of closeness with her son is unfortunately unusual; and she embraces it. "This job I have, George... It is important, and hard at times."

"How did you find the job?" the boy asks. Instantly Mary understands why he thinks "find" and not "receive"; Tom had been talking over every meal about the job he "found" in New York.

Mary chuckles. "I didn't _find_ it, my darling... Your..." She cannot bring herself to use the words she so desperately needs in order to tell her son the truth.

 _Your father willed me to be Downton's heiress._

She intends to speak this. Instead, silence.

"Mama?" The little one notices a transformation in his mother's countenance. He perceives a fear in her, as well as an aching trepidation to reveal something, something of deep regard. Of grief.

 _It's about time he hears,_ figures pragmatic Mary, already composing the sentence in her mind so that it is less meaningful when she finally spurts it out.

She cannot afford to let it be meaningful. "Your papa wrote in a letter that he passed on Downton to me. I am the heiress."

For a moment, George quietly considers this. Mary looks down at him, wishing he were the tiny baby he used to be - so immune to grief, to reality - but alas, he is four years of age. She cannot not escape it. Not like she'd done with the truth that Matthew is dead.

The lighting in the room flickers, and this distracts Mary. But George is still in thought, feeling the vibration and the beating of his mother's heart in her chest. And at last, he wonders, "Papa gave you...Downton?"

 _Yes,_ Mary sobs inside, hearing as if it were gospel the actuality of this phenomenon right now, from little George's rosy lips. _Matthew has opened the door that I thought would never open for me... Heiress to an estate run for centuries by men! What luck!_

"Yes," breathes the mother in combined shock and relief. The explosion of realisation that has ensued in her mind now takes her for a spin, sending her back to the time of Matthew's life with her. _He wanted this for me,_ Mary recognises.

In response to her affirmative, George grins. "He loved you, Mama... Did he love me?"

"What?" She blurts this because she is frightened for the next question her son is about to ask: _Why did he give away the title when I could have been the next heir?_ Biting her lip, Mary fights her brain for the right words to deviate the conversation. "Of course, my darling, your papa loved you more than you know -"

"But you have the job. Am I...not good enough for it?" His elementary declaration and question mean far less to Mary than his ingenious comprehension of the situation; and she, too - for the first time - asks the question. _Why? Why did Matthew forget the fact that we had a chance at having a son?_

George gives up on hearing an answer from his mother, and he removes himself from her lap, unemotionally. "Good night, Mama," he practically whispers. "I will sleep in my bed tonight."

The child's feet are at the door when Mary regains full consciousness. "I can't allow that. Stay, please. George."

His head turns; she spots liquid underneath his eyes and chokes on guilt. "Oh, my darling," she cries, "Your papa was so happy when he saw you for the first time... He was so happy, and he loved you -" the tears flow down Mary's cheeks - "but he was thinking of _you_ when he willed me Downton. He _knew_ what the job entailed, he understood how difficult it will be in the future, to keep up our home and its estate as the world continues to change."

It was a lot of information to digest, and yet the boy nodded and he dried his face. _He is so brave,_ thought Mary, _witnessing his mama in such a broken state..._

After just a second of hesitation, George runs directly to Mary and collapses into her embrace. "Papa did it for us, Mama," he whispers at a moment during which both are purely listening to the continuing night outside. Mary believes she is dreaming; she knows not how she has come to deserve this child, nor the heirdom to this place she calls home. "He did it for us," she whispers to both of them, her lips hovering over George's precious head.

She marvels at him, and at his resemblance to Matthew...and kisses his soft, blond hair.


End file.
